


Torture

by maqcy



Series: Whumptober 2018 [14]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Drowning, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Master/Slave, Non-Sexual Slavery, Original Character(s), References to Norse Religion & Lore, Sexual Slavery, Slavery, Slaves, Torture, Whumptober, banquet, that's all, well the characters have norse names
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-15
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2019-08-02 07:39:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16300868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maqcy/pseuds/maqcy
Summary: As punishment, a slave is sentenced to a slow death by drowning after a mishap at a dinner party. A guest steps in, but is it too late?





	Torture

**Author's Note:**

> Further tags at the bottom, to avoid spoilers. Apologies for any mistakes, I only just finished this. Hope you like it!

Judur hit the concrete bottom of the dim pit with a heavy thud. He lay stunned, the wind knocked out of him and his arm already throbbing where he’d landed on it, but it wasn’t worse than the fear that was making him nauseous. Blood leaked down his back from the warrior’s brief but vicious beating but he hardly noticed it.

He heard the thick _whoosh_ of the water being turned on and with panic making his heart race, he forced himself to roll up to his knees. As the cold concrete began to pool with water under his knees, he looked desperately up at the lip of the pit, at least ten foot above him, where the Master’s figure was silhouetted against the light that spilled in from the lit hallway.

“Master-” he pleaded uselessly as the water inched up to his waist where he was kneeling. The Master didn’t reply but walked away, closing the door behind him with a final click, leaving Judur in the blackness with just the rising water and the concrete walls too high to climb. He shuddered as the icy water rose higher, reaching his ribs and, shakily, he got to his feet.

Slaves drowned in here. Judur had been thrown in here once before, when he was barely older than a child, but the Master had had him pulled out just as Judur was slipping under. That time he had stayed to watch Judur’s begging with impassivity and, after Judur had been dragged out, he’d bourn Judur’s barely coherent gratefully with a disgusted frown. But he’d let Judur live. Not this time. This time he wasn’t watching for when Judur slipped under because he didn’t care. They’d pull Judur out when he was dead.

*

Kvasir rested his hand on his chin with a frown as he ate. Fenrir, the host, had a furious set to his face and Kvasir eyed him sideways, wondering what had happened to that slave. A man a few seats down, a warrior of high-status judging by his place at the table, had seized the slave and fawned over him for most of the dinner, showing a gross lack of manners to Kvasir’s mind.

The slave had suffered it well-enough, though he clearly wasn’t a bed slave, but he’d panicked like nothing else when the warrior had put a hand around his neck to press the slave’s face into his groin. The whole room had gone silent in the aftermath of the slave’s terrified, gasping wails and in his struggle, he’d kicked the warrior in the groin. Kvasir had had to cover a smirk at seeing the stuck-up asshole’s face go red with embarrassment, but his amusement had faded when the slave was grabbed and beaten with harsh, awful cracks of the warrior’s cane.

“He will be dealt with,” Fenrir had said, when the warrior was finished with his beating and the slave was a shuddering heap on the floor, blood seeping through his tunic. Kvasir had swallowed back disgust, though he still watched as Fenrir grasped the slave by the hair and dragged him from the room. He hadn’t done it like a man who was done with punishing his slave and just wanted him out of the way, but like someone who wanted to whip a man unconscious. And yet he’d returned in minutes.

 _Dealt with_ , Kvasir thought grimly and glared briefly at the rich food as his stomach churned. It was none of his business and he told himself that he wouldn’t be accepting Fenrir’s offers of dinner again, however much he might benefit from Fenrir’s contacts. The man’s treatment of his slaves was disgusting, not least in that he’d allowed the warrior to fumble with the serving slave in the first place. Kvasir would have called the slave to his side, something the guest wouldn’t have been able to prevent, and then sent the slave away for the night, telling them to send a trained bed slave to fawn over the guest in their stead. Just as you didn’t send an untrained horse to battle, so you didn’t force an untrained slave accept advances from strangers.

The best part of an hour later, Kvasir was still feeling mildly sick and uninterested in eating even as various people tried to draw him into conversation and he excused himself to find a bathroom. A slave came to his side to show him the way and Kvasir wondered if Fenrir had places in the castle that he didn’t want guests wandering into.

“Just this way, sir,” the young, brown-haired slave leading the way said.

Kvasir was silent for a minute before he spoke his mind. “What happened to that slave?”

“Pardon, sir?” the slave said, but he looked spooked.

“The slave,” Kvasir said impatiently. “The one the warrior was pawing at in the dining hall.”

“I’m afraid I don’t-” the slave started. His face was well-schooled to not show his feelings but he twisted his hands and Kvasir lost his temper, grasping the slave by the shirt to shove him up against the nearest wall.

“You know who I mean,” he snapped, before a sudden rush of shame made him release the wide-eyed slave and he glanced up and down the corridor, relieved when no-one had seen them. He gritted his jaw and looked regretfully at the slave, who was now eying him warily. “I apologise,” he muttered.

“Sir, the slave is indisposed, I am sorry,” the slave said, somewhat nervously though his voice was steady.

Kvasir remembered Fenrir’s heavy words, his promise that he’d have the slave _dealt with_ , and he sighed. “Is he dead?” he said.

The slave dared to glance up at him briefly before his eyes returned to the floor and he looked down the corridor, like Kvasir had done. Looking for his master; Fenrir.

“No, sir. I- heard him. He’s alive.” The slave’s grim tone in just those words made Kvasir’s stomach tighten.

“But he won’t be for long, you mean,” he said flatly, wondering what the hell kind of slow death Fenrir had set up. The slave nodded jerkily and turned his head away with a flash of distress.

“Take me back to the main hall. The bathroom will wait,” Kvasir said.

The slave, to his credit, didn’t pause before heading back to the hall, Kvasir’s long strides forcing the slave to hurry to keep up, but Kvasir had the idea that he didn’t have time to waste.

Kvasir went immediately up to Fenrir when he got back to the hall and he felt eyes track him but ignored them.

“Lord Fenrir,” he said and bowed. Fenrir glanced up at him and Kvasir didn’t like the cold set to his eyes and wondered why he hadn’t seen it before.

“Kvasir,” Fenrir said, neither with nor without respect. “Is everything to your satisfaction?”

“The food is excellent,” Kvasir said perfunctorily. “I am interested in purchasing your slave. The one you sent out.”

Fenrir stilled briefly before he placed a forkful of potato in his mouth and chewed slowly. He made Kvasir wait until he’d swallowed and wiped his foully greasy lips on a napkin before he replied. “I can’t do that. He is dead.”

Kvasir blinked and paused as he tried to think how to phrase this without offense. “I enquired after the slave with one of your other staff and was told that he was alive.” Kvasir got the impression that he hadn’t managed to avoid offense when Fenrir’s brows drew together but then Fenrir merely shrugged.

“Perhaps they are right,” he said. “But if so, he will dead soon and rightly so.”

Kvasir clenched his jaw but forced himself to temper his anger. “I would pay well for him,” he said tightly.

Fenrir snorted, “And why is that?”

Kvasir searched for a reason. “The inexperienced ones are the most interesting and I have an abundance of leisure time.”

Fenrir shrugged, then. “Eight hundred,” he said and it was Kvasir turn to snort.

“Please,” he said derisively. “You were prepared to give him up as a loss. “Two hundred.”

Fenrir glared at him briefly and then chewed another mouthful of food resentfully. “I don’t care for how you are mixing pleasure and business,” he said irritably before fishing out a key from under his robes. “Six hundred or nothing. And you may be excused from any future dinner invitations.”

Kvasir exhaled, “Very well,” he said, taking the key when it was offered. He gave a brief bow and strode quickly away, pointing out a slave as he went.

“You, here,” he snapped and then hurried to his side. “Take me to the slave the warrior was beating,” he said, and then showed the key. “It is your master’s wish.”

“Yes, sir, this way,” the slave said, before glancing at Kvasir. “I fear he may dead, sir.”

“Then run,” he growled and when the slave took off, he followed.

They ran through the complex with Kvasir at the slave’s quick heels and they were both panting by the time the slave came to skidding stop outside a plain-looking wooden door. Kvasir handed the slave the key, fearing his hands were shaking.

“Open it,” he ordered and the slave quickly did so.

“Sir, be careful!” the slave said, putting a hand across Kvasir’s ribs and making him stratle when he went to enter. “There is a drop to a pit.”

Kvasir went more cautiously inside, letting his gaze adjust to the dim lighting, before he realized that he could hear the slight sound of water, and weak gasping.

“He’s alive,” the slave at his side murmured and then moved away from Kvasir to pull something from the wall, a long coil of rope it seemed like.

“Sir, please!” the slave said, his tone pleading. “If it is your wish to have him, I need your help!”

“Right,” Kvasir muttered and came warily to his side as the slave dropped the rope down.

“Judur,” he said urgently. He clearly cared for the drowning slave. “Judur, grab the rope goddamit!”

Kvasir came closer to edge as his eyesight adjusted fully and stared at the slight shimmer of water and the figure moving spasmodically several feet down. How utterly sadistic.

He heard quiet choking and then the water seemed to still and Kvasir looked, alarmed, at the slave with the rope, who turned to look back at him, his despairing face heavily shadowed.

“I don’t think- he’s not holding the rope.”

“Fuck,” Kvasir bit out. Making a decision he scrambled to take off his heavy outer dinner-coat and then his robe, throwing them aside. “Can you tie that rope to something?” he demanded.

“Yes, sir,” the slave said.

“Give me the end,” Kvasir said as he shucked off his shoes as well and then the rough end of a rope was thrust at him and he grabbed it, tying it quickly around his waist. “Do not let me drown,” he growled and then, before the slave could reply, he dropped down from the edge of the pit into the water, some way below.

It was cold and hit him like a punch to the lungs and he came up gasping before he dived down again, determined. There was little light and Kvasir fumbled, panicked, at where he thought the slave, Judur, had sunk down, before his hands finally met with a floating tunic and then a shoulder. He grabbed at the slave, his lungs desperate for air, and then struck out for the surface with Judur in his grasp.

“Slave!” he said as soon as he had breath.

“Here, sir! Have you got him?”

“Yes,” Kvasir said as he was untying the wet rope from his waist. “Not breathing.” He refastened the rope around Judur. “You need to pull him up,” he said. “Fast as you can. I’ll push him up.”

“Yes sir,” the slave said and Kvasir felt the tension on the rope as the slave started pulling.

“Now!” Kvasir ordered sharply, as he strained to pick the wet body out of the water, limp in his grasp, and push Judur above his head whilst still keeping himself mostly afloat.

But Judur was jerkily lifted up and when Kvasir came back up, he heard the slave gasping and then the wet thud of the slave being dragged over the edge.

“Tie the rope onto something and toss it back down,” Kvasir ordered, paddling water best he could.

“Sir,” the slave said. “Done, sir.”

“Try and get him breathing,” he ordered. The rope slapped back down into the water and he grabbed onto it, gasping out instructions as he did so. “Tilt his head back.”

“Sir,” he heard, before he focused on using the rope to haul himself up, his feet against the wall as he dragged himself up it and then crawled over the lip and over to where he could see the slave crouched over Judur.

He grabbed Judur away from the slave and rolled him quickly onto his side to thump his back hard, trying to knock the water out of the man.

Judur choked, coughed, and gasped at the air with an awful, wet sound, his chest heaving and Kvasir released a shaking breath.

“Breathe,” he ordered, pulling Judur upright to stroke his back roughly. “You’re alright, you’re going to be fine.”

“Well done, sir,” the slave at his side breathed.

Kvasir grunted. “You did well,” he said. Judur’s gasping had turned to weak sobs and Kvasir held onto him, hushing him as Judur got his breath back, shaking in Kvasir’s grip. He was utterly limp.

“I-I’ll be good,” Judur murmured roughly as soon as he could, before breaking back into coughs. “Pl-please.”

“Quiet,” Kvasir said, not unkindly. “Breathe, alright. You’re coming away with me. You’re not going back in there, understand?”

Judur hiccupped and then nodded against Kvasir’s shoulder. “Thank you, sir,” he said weakly and Kvasir grunted.

Kvasir gave Judur another few moments before he handed him off to the other slave, who clutched at Judur with tears of his own.

“You’re okay, I got you, Judur,” the slave said as Kvasir shakily got to his feet and shook off all the water he could before he fumbled for his clothes and pulled them on, grimacing at the dampness.

“Eli?” Judur whimpered and Kvasir glanced back to see the slaves clutching at one another.

“Yeah, yeah, thought you were gonna die,” Eli said brokenly in a rush.

“Me too,” Judur whispered.

“How in hell did you hold on?” Eli murmured, sounded shocked. “You must have been in there for half an hour, Judur.”

“Really?” Judur said and then exhaled on a rough laugh. “Felt like hours. Just couldn’t give up, I guess.”

“Thank the gods,” Eli muttered.

Kvasir got his outer robe done up again and came back over to the slaves, eying the pit warily as he did so. He’d noticed that Judur had pulled himself away from it, all but pressing himself up against the wall.

“Judur, right?” Kvasir said tiredly. This wasn’t how he’d expected his evening to go.

“Sir? Yes, sir?” Judur said and Kvasir saw his dim figure shuffle into kneeling.

“Stand for me?” Kvasir said, phrasing it as a question because he wasn’t sure Judur would be able to. An hour of struggling in cold water, after being heavily beaten, and in the dark? Kvasir didn’t know that he could have hung on.

Judur tried but the other slave, Eli, had to support him and Kvsair nodded at him, though he didn’t know that Eli had seen in the dim light from the corridor.

“Come on,” he said grimly, exhausted, and he couldn’t imagine how tired Judur might be.

The slaves came out after him, blinking in the light like owls and Kvasir eyed Judur, seeing how pale and bleary-eyed he was. Blood stained his drenched tunic.

Kvasir looked at him and pictured him as dry, healthy and smiling and told himself that he would make it so. They made their way slowly down the long corridors of Fenrir’s castle with Judur leaning heavily on Eli, and Kvasir helped a shivering Judur into his carriage.

“Please take care of him, sir,” Eli murmured, his head bowed, and Kvasir gripped Eli’s shoulder briefly.

“He will be well with me. Take care of yourself. If you’re ever in need a place to shelter, you can ask for Kvasir Narfi.”

“Thank you, sir,” Eli said softly, before Kvasir’s carriage pulled away. As the carriage rocked along the rutted streets, Kvasir pulled a blanket out from under the seat and tucked it around Judur’s shivering body to keep him warm for the ride home.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Tags: Near death experience, Resuscitation
> 
> So what did you think? Did you predict what would happen? Did you like the characters?
> 
> Come talk to me on tumblr at maqcyloup! My anon asks are always open!


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